I AM EXTRA IN A SHONEN MANGA

The training field behind the mountain hall was unlike the others.

No cracked dummies. No scorched stones. Just earth—flat, clean, and heavy. The kind of place where every step meant something.

Juno Arkai stood at the center of it. Barefoot. Hands clenched. Eyes forward.

Before him, like a living statue carved by thunder itself, stood Master Vince, broad-shouldered, arms folded behind his back, mullet fluttering with the faint wind that always followed him.

They said Master Vince could shatter a boulder with his pinky.

They said he once walked into a battle naked and walked out untouched.

They said a lot of things.

But right now, he was just standing. Waiting. Like a wall made of flesh, pride, and pure will.

Juno bowed deeply.

"Master."

"Are you ready, Juno?" Vince's voice was low. Not a shout. But it carried like it came from the bones of the earth.

Juno raised his head, eyes locked with his master's.

"Yes, Master."

A pause. A faint breeze rustled the nearby grass.

Then Vince smiled. It wasn't kind. It was steel testing the edge of a blade.

"Then come."

"Show me what you've carved into yourself."

Juno inhaled once, deeply.

(This is the moment.)

He shifted into his stance feet shoulder-width, hands open, elbows tucked in.

Taishin Path. Form One.

The earth beneath his toes felt alive.

"Hai, Master."

And then, he moved.

A blur of muscle and momentum. His first strike was a full-body lunge, aimed at Vince's chest not with the hope of landing a blow, but to test the distance, the rhythm, the weight of the coming battle.

But Vince didn't move.

He just raised one hand, just one and caught Juno's strike in mid-air.

No sound. No shockwave. Just stillness.

Then Vince's eyes narrowed, and he said:

"Again."

Juno blinked. Pulled back.

Struck again. A straight, no-nonsense jab to the ribs.

"Again."

A kick now—rotating through his hips, honed and fast.

"Again."

A palm thrust—low, sharp, enough to wind most men.

"Again."

Each blow met with a block, a deflection, or simply nothing. Vince didn't counter. Didn't punish.

He just received.

And each time, Juno felt it—

(No wasted movement. No weakness. Just presence.)

His muscles screamed. Sweat rolled down his face. But his eyes burned.

He struck again.

And again.

And again.

Until finally, after nearly thirty unbroken exchanges, he stumbled forward—breathing ragged, arms trembling.

"...Master…" he gasped. "Please… tell me what I lack…"

Vince was silent for a long moment.

Then he stepped forward. Just one pace. It shook the dirt.

He placed a hand not gently on Juno's shoulder.

"You lack nothing," he said.

"But you haven't accepted it yet."

Juno looked up, stunned.

"The Taishin Path is not about strength. Not about skill. Not even about victory."

"It's about presence. The will to stand even when your body fails. To exist like a mountain, unmoved by storm or fire."

He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing Juno whole.

"You have the strength, Juno."

"Now earn your presence."

Juno lowered his head again, not in submission—but in quiet understanding.

"Yes, Master."

Master Vince shifted his stance.

No smile now. No cryptic patience. Just the quiet, bone-deep presence of a warrior demanding blood-level seriousness.

"Now," he said, voice flat.

"Fight me like you mean it. Like your life's on the line."

Juno's heartbeat roared in his ears.

He clenched his fists. Gritted his teeth.

Then, a whisper through his bones:

"Gate Five…"

His voice rose like steel catching flame—

"Iron Nerve Gate—Open!!"

The world changed.

A pulse, sharp and bright, tore through Juno's spine. It raced across his limbs, locking every nerve in place then numbing them.

The pain vanished. Not faded. Vanished.

All the micro-fractures, the bruised ribs, the strain from dozens of strikes—they didn't exist anymore.

His body surged forward, raw and silent.

Master Vince didn't blink.

But his eyes narrowed.

Juno didn't scream. Didn't hesitate.

He moved.

The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched with no restraint.

His fist shot forward a hammer powered by everything he had.

THOOM!!

Vince raised one arm blocked.

The air shuddered from impact. Dust spiraled outward in a shockwave. Trees trembled in the distance.

But Juno wasn't done.

He spun mid-air, landing a knee toward Vince's flank, followed by an elbow swing—then a low sweep, then a rising uppercut.

All fast.

All brutal.

All clean.

And no pain.

His face was blank. Not in anger. In focus.

Vince grinned.

"Good. But it's still not enough."

He raised one leg and brought his heel down.

CRACK!!

The dirt cratered. Juno blocked but his knees buckled under the sheer weight of the hit.

He flew backward, sliding across the field, tearing earth behind him.

He stopped.

Spat blood.

But stood up.

Straight.

Eyes burning.

Fists raised.

Still no fear.

Still no pain.

Just resolve.

Vince's voice boomed across the field:

"Again!"

…

Meanwhile Far from the training grounds.

Beyond the peaceful trees.

Past the hills where light still touched the sky.

There was fire.

And in the center of that inferno—

Kurosawa Zeke stood tall.

Cracks spread across the scorched ground beneath his boots. Molten veins of magma pulsed around his feet, bubbling with barely contained destruction.

His coat fluttered behind him—half-incinerated, half-clinging to his broad shoulders like it refused to fall. Armor plates across his arms steamed, glowing from internal heat.

And ahead of him—

A horde.

Voidborn.

Crawling across the charred ridge like roaches through flame.

Misshapen bodies.

Mouths where there should be eyes.

Veins of corrupted Shinrei webbing their flesh.

They shrieked. A sound that bent the air, rattled the lungs.

But Kurosawa didn't flinch.

He raised one hand, palm turned upward. Flame gathered—thick and slow like lava rising from a pit.

"Maggots," he muttered, voice like dry stone cracking under pressure.

"I told them to clean this area three days ago."

The ground quaked.

One of the Voidborn leapt toward him fangs bared, claws extended.

Too slow.

Kurosawa didn't dodge.

He punched forward, straight through its ribcage. His fist erupted out the other side—magma bursting from the contact point like a geyser of raw death.

The beast disintegrated mid-scream.

The others hissed, paused.

He raised both arms now spreading them wide.

The veins beneath the ground turned red-hot.

"You want a warning?"

His voice boomed.

"Here it is."

He slammed his foot down.

"Echo Art— Magma Wave!!"

BOOOOOOM!!

The ridge split.

From beneath his feet, a rolling surge of molten flame burst forward—a tsunami of red and gold, crashing outward like a tidal wave made from the planet's core.

Voidborn screamed as they were swallowed—melting on contact, their corrupted Shinrei sizzling into ash and soot. Some tried to run. Failed.

The land turned into a sea of magma, the heat warping the air for miles.

"BURN, YOU MAGGOTS!!" Kurosawa roared.

Ash rained from the sky.

The wave finally ebbed, revealing nothing but scorched stone and rivers of glowing magma carving paths like scars across the battlefield.

And Kurosawa Zeke—

Unmoving.

Breathing once.

"This land's under protection," he muttered to the wind.

"And I don't repeat myself."

To be continue